


The Gunslinger and the Sheriff

by Persiflage



Series: Skoulson RomFest 2k16 Redux [6]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Western, Canon Typical Grant Ward, Canon-Typical Violence, Cooking, Daisy as a gunslinger is hot, Daisy is a BAMF, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mentions of May/Andrew, Mentions of Miles/Daisy, Mentions of Slavery, Nick Fury & Daisy Johnson Friendship, Older Man/Younger Woman, Other Canon Characters - Freeform, POV Alternating, POV Phil Coulson, POV Skye | Daisy Johnson, Rising Tide, Skoulson RomFest 2k16 REDUX
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-25 14:18:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7536127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Western AU starring Daisy as a gunslinger for the Rising Tide and Sheriff Phil Coulson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gunslinger and the Sheriff

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zauberer_sirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/gifts), [RowboatCop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/gifts), [Skyepilot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/gifts).



> I confess to half-watching a LOT of Westerns as kid as my late father was a fan, so this is probably stuffed full of Hollywood Western cliches. For which I apologise.
> 
> I make absolutely no apologies for making Daisy into a supernaturally good gunslinger, though!
> 
> Written for the Skoulson RomFest 2k16 Redux for the Day 5 prompt 'AU'.

As the smoke and smell of cordite begins to drift away, the gunslinger, who's just shot dead the three men who moments before had robbed the county bank, slides down off the tall grey stallion, and Sheriff Phil Coulson stares in dumb disbelief: the gunslinger is a young woman, not a young man as he'd initially assumed. 

"Sheriff," she says, touching the tips of two fingers to the brim of her Stetson. Her tone is respectful, and he swallows hard as he forces himself to stop gaping and respond.

"Thank you," he says, nodding at the dead outlaws. He can't recall the last time he saw anyone so quick on the draw – she took all three men down in a little under a minute, despite the fact they were running for their horses, and she was galloping towards them.

"You're welcome," she says, as if it's an everyday occurrence, and for all he knows, it is. "There somewhere I can get a room and stabling for my horse?"

Coulson swallows again, then nods. "There's May's," he tells her, pointing down the street a little way. "She keeps a clean house and don't tolerate no trouble. Food 's good, and prices ain't none too steep."

She gives him a nod of acknowledgement, then leads her horse away, and Coulson forces himself to pay attention to the townsfolk – luckily they seem as awestruck as he is by the arrival of a woman gunslinger. He beckons over the blacksmith and the undertaker to remove the corpses from the street once he's collected up the bags of stolen money. 

He carries them across the street to the bank where a handful of people have spilled out of the doors onto the wooden sidewalk, doubtless attracted by the gunfire. Inside the bank he hands over the bags of gold to the manager, who looks both disbelieving and relieved at the return of the gold.

"Thank you," he says, all earnest gratitude. 

"Weren't none of my doing," the Sheriff tells him gruffly. He turns his attention from the bank manager to the clerks and customers, and asks, "Anyone hurt by them outlaws?"

He gets a chorus of negatives from those around him, so he nods a farewell, then walks back out into the street. He's mighty curious about the gunslinger, and he decides it behoves him to find out more about the woman, especially if she's planning on staying in town more than a day or two, so he heads down to May's, knowing she'll have the gossip if anyone does.

He pushes open the saloon doors and makes his way over to the bar, taking a seat on the stool at the corner of the L-shaped bar. Melinda May, owner and long-time friend, comes over pretty quickly, carrying a bottle of his favourite bourbon and a glass. 

"Phil." She sets the glass down in front of him, then pours.

"May." He takes the glass and knocks the shot back in one gulp.

She lifts a questioning eyebrow, and he nods, so she pours a second shot. "Her name's Daisy, and she thinks she's 25."

"Thinks?" he asks, drinking only half the shot this time.

"She's an orphan. Was abandoned as a baby, but she doesn't know how old she was when the orphanage took her in."

He nods, filing that information away. "She's fast," he tells May, who nods in turn.

"So Fitz said," May tells him, jerking her head in the direction of the young railroad engineer, who's sitting further down the bar with his friend, Jemma Simmons. The two are deep in conversation. "He saw Daisy ride in – said she had the three outlaws dead in the street within a minute." 

Coulson nods. He knows he couldn't have taken down all three men that fast; as it was, he only arrived on the scene in time to watch Daisy shooting the outlaws.

"Don't reckon she'll be any kinda trouble while she's here," May adds, and he raises an eyebrow. "She seemed kinda subdued."

Before Coulson can answer, the room behind him suddenly goes silent, then people begin clapping and cheering. He swings around on his bar stool to see Daisy has just come down the stairs that lead up to the rooms May hires out to travellers. The young gunslinger blushes, but she nods acknowledgements to May's patrons as she crosses the room to the bar.

"This seat taken?" she asks Coulson.

"It is now," he tells her, and then is embarrassed at himself. She doesn't seem to mind, however, giving him a shy grin as she settles next to him.

"What're you drinking?" May asks.

"Whisky and soda," Daisy tells her, and May walks off to fetch the bottles.

"You've made a lot of friends today," Coulson tells her, and she gives him a puzzled look. "Lots of folk have their gold in the bank that got robbed – you got their money back for 'em, which makes them your friends now."

May sets a glass down on the bar in front of Daisy, then pours her drink, and Daisy picks up the glass. "To new friends," she says, and knocks back half.

Coulson feels his eyebrows shoot up, and he realises that he's never known a woman like Daisy before: she's behaving more like a man than a woman (and is dressed like one, too, of course). At the same time, though, she's not made any attempt to disguise the fact that she is a woman – her hair hasn't been cut short, she just wears it fastened up so that it'll lie under her hat when she's wearing the Stetson. And this close it's possible to see womanly curves under the white shirt and the embroidered vest she wears, not to mention the flare of her hips is unmistakeable.

He realises he's in danger of being considered rude for staring, so he pulls his gaze back from her profile, and drinks the rest of his bourbon. She turns towards him a moment later, however, and begins asking questions about the town: when it was settled, how large the population is, and when they expect the railroad to be finished. He answers her questions, happy to spend some more time talking with her, and as they talk he takes her measure: she seems less subdued than reserved to Coulson – the kind of person who keeps their thoughts to themselves unless they really trust someone. He likes her, though – she seems less jaded than he is, despite her history as an orphan, and she has a way of looking at the world that seems fresh. 

"Do you have any supper plans?" he asks some time later, and it probably sounds impulsive, but it's not – for the last hour while they've been talking he's been thinking about asking her to eat with him.

She shakes her head. "No sir, I didn't make any plans."

"I'd like you to invite you to eat with me, then," he says. "I can't give you anything fancy, but I'm good at the basics.

She gives him a shy smile, and seems pleased by the invitation. "Thank you."

He nods, then tells her that he lives in the house that adjoins the town goal, right opposite the bank where the robbery took place this afternoon. "Seven suit you?" he asks, and she nods, so he slides off his stool, tells her that he'll see her later, then saunters out, pausing to talk to one or two of May's patrons as he goes.

DJ-PC-DJ-PC-DJ

Daisy remains at the bar after the Sheriff's gone, and is only half surprised by the number of townsfolk who come up to speak to her, many offering to buy her another drink; if she accepted every drink she's offered, she'd be pie-eyed and incapable by the time seven rolled around.

She learns quite a bit about the Sheriff from talking to the townsfolk, so she's thoughtful as she goes upstairs to bathe and change before heading out to take supper with him. She's impressed that May's has a separate bathing room upstairs, with a huge iron tub that must require dozens of billycans of hot water to fill – but to Daisy, it's worth paying the extra $5 to soak herself so thoroughly after many days on the trail.

She decides to wear her one and only dress tonight, although she's not sure why, except that it feels good, sometimes, to abandon her trousers and chaps, her button down shirt and her embroidered vest, and to look like a woman instead of a gunslinger.

She takes her time over doing her hair; usually she just pins it up out of the way, but this evening she leaves most of it to hang loose down her back, braiding two lengths, one on either side of her head, which she pins carefully so that the braids make a V-shape across the back of her head. She pulls on some soft buckskin shoes instead of her usual knee-high boots, then picks up her purse, into which she places her smallest revolver, which was designed and custom-made just for her by Mr Colt.

She takes a last glance at herself in the mirror as she draws a shawl over her hair and arranges it to fall over her shoulders, then she lets herself out of her room and walks along the landing to head downstairs. She meets May at the head of the stairs, and the older woman looks startled for a moment. Daisy guesses that May doesn't immediately recognise her transformed guest, then she breaks into a tiny smile and gives Daisy an approving look.

"Well, don't you scrub up mighty fine?" May drawls, and Daisy feels a flush of heat spread through her body: there's nothing malicious in May's face or tone, but she suddenly feels self-conscious at having made such an effort with her appearance in order to dine with the town Sheriff.

"Thank you," she murmurs, and is surprised when May lightly brushes her hand over Daisy's shoulder. 

"Enjoy your evening," the older woman says. "Phil's a decent cook."

"Thank you," Daisy repeats, and May gives her a nod, then steps back to allow Daisy to descend the staircase.

It's only a short walk across the street and down the wooden sidewalk to the town goal, and the house next to it, and Daisy's glad to reach her destination so promptly as there's a bitter chill in the wind tonight.

She knocks at the Sheriff's door, and he opens the door promptly, then simply stares at her for a long moment. She can't help smiling just a little at the impact she's making on him.

"Forgive me," he says, quickly recovering himself. "Where are my manners? Come on in." He steps back, pulling the door open wider, and she murmurs a thank you, then crosses the threshold. 

The house isn't the biggest in town, but it looks comfortable, if unmistakeably a bachelor home. The wooden floor is polished to a high sheen, however, and when he guides her into the parlour-cum-dining-room, there's no obvious clutter, but there's also a certain lack of womanly touches to the place. 

Coulson seats Daisy on the horsehair couch, then offers her a drink, and she asks for something without alcohol, explaining that the townsfolk had plied her with drinks this afternoon after he'd left. 

"Coffee?" he asks, and she nods gratefully.

"I'll be back in two shakes," he tells her, and walks swiftly away. She takes a closer look at the room in his absence, noting that while there's a clean white cloth on the table at the far end of the room, there are neither flowers nor candles. And while she's not big on interior decoration, or frills and furbelows, she does notice these kind of things, even though she spends all her time sleeping in beds that are not her own.

Coulson comes back into the room carrying a tin tray on which rests a coffee pot and two cups. He pours and hands her one of the mugs before taking the second for himself. 

After they've drunk their coffee, making small talk about some of the people she'd met this afternoon, he leads her to the dinner table, and pulls out a chair to seat her, then he goes out to fetch the food. It's a big pot of beef stew served with hunks of fresh bread, and it tastes heavenly to Daisy, who's been living on trail rations for the last few days.

He follows the stew with honest-to-goodness home-baked apple pie, and she can barely hold back a moan of appreciation when she gets her first taste: it's been sprinkled with cinnamon and tastes like heaven, she thinks.

Following the pie he fetches more coffee, and they take seats on the couch, and Daisy can't help sinking back with a small sigh of satisfaction at how comfortable she feels right now: full of good food, and warm and dry.

"So what brings you to Oakland, Miss Daisy?" asks Coulson – a question she's been waiting for all evening.

"Came looking for you, actually, Sheriff," she tells him, and sees she's surprised him by this announcement.

"Me specifically?" he asks, "rather than just a sheriff?"

"Specifically you, Sheriff Philip J Coulson," she tells him, straightening up to set her empty coffee cup back on the tray.

He frowns at her, and she notices the way the lines around his eyes deepen. "Why?"

"What do you know of John Garrett, and the Centipede Railroad and Mining Corporation?"

He looks bemused now. "They're bringing the railroad north," he says, "and they're one of the biggest railroad companies in the whole of the United States."

Daisy nods, although she thinks his answer somewhat disingenuous. "They're also the greediest, and their board is the most corrupt anywhere in the country."

His eyes widen. "Corrupt in what ways?" he asks.

"Besides being liars and cheats," she says, "they enslave men, and sometimes women too, to work on the railroad and in their mines: men and women with homes and jobs, and sometimes even families, of their own. But Garrett's thugs round them up and make them work for the Centipede Corp. If they refuse, Garrett's men, usually one Grant Douglas Ward, assassinates them." She senses him stiffening at the mention of Ward's name.

"That's a very serious accusation to level," Coulson says, his tone flat. "I presume you have proof?"

"I can give you a list of the names of the men and women who've been enslaved by Garrett and his people," she tells him. She opens her purse and pulls out a sheaf of paper which she unfolds and flattens out on the couch cushion between them.

"Mike Peterson," she says, pointing to the topmost name on the first page. "Married, with a son named Ace, whose wife died unfortunately young. He's a mining engineer. Akela Amador." She points at the next name on the list. "A talented young woman who was confidently expected to become one of the first ever women doctors in this country. Chan Ho Yin and Raina, two Chinese immigrants who were both working two jobs to save money to go to college." 

She watches at he looks down the list of names, and notices when he suddenly presses his index finger against a name about half way down the page. "Andrew Garner," he whispers.

"Another doctor in training," Daisy says.

His expression when he lifts his eyes from the paper is stricken, and she leans towards him, putting her hand on his arm. "What is it?" she asks worriedly.

"Andrew Garner was Melinda May's fiancé," he tells her. "He disappeared over a year ago on the way between here and the Keck School of Medicine."

Daisy swallows down her initial horror to concentrate on the positive. "This should give you even more reason to help me, then."

He gives her a confused look, so she elaborates. "I want to raid the Centipede Corp compound," she tells him. 

"Are you crazy?" he demands, which is exactly the reaction she'd expected – she knows, from the various conversations she had with the townsfolk this afternoon, what the Sheriff's history is with Garrett and his board. 

"Don't you want to help your friend get her fiancé back?" she asks. Then she lifts her hand from his arm to place it over his heart. "Don't you want revenge for this?"

He looks as if she's punched him in the gut, and she pulls her hand away immediately. "I'm sorry," she says, both contrite and angry at herself. "I can't pretend to know what you went through."

He gets up, tossing the papers onto the seat of the couch, and paces down the room, and she wonders if she's lost him before she'd even got him half persuaded. She watches as he reaches the far end of the room and twitches aside one of the drapes to stare out of the window. After a few moments of staring at his uninformative back, she gathers together the papers and reads down the by-now-familiar list of names: every single person on this list matters to someone somewhere.

After several more minutes, Coulson comes back and sits down beside her again. "Exactly what did you hear about me, about this." He gestures at his heart.

"The only person who gave me any specifics was Melinda May," she tells him, "and even she didn't go into great detail. She just told me that Garrett's pet thug, Grant Ward, had stabbed you and you'd been unbelievably lucky not to die, and that it was thanks to Jemma Simmons' quick thinking and quicker actions that you lived to tell the tale."

Daisy swallows at the bleak look on his face, then continues in a whisper, "She also told me that the reason for Ward's attack was not something she felt she could share with me. I'm very sorry, Sheriff Coulson, for bringing it up. I had no right to do that." She folds the papers in half and tucks them into her purse, prepatory to leaving.

"Stay," he says quietly, then gets up and goes to a cabinet at the other end of the room. He returns with a bottle of bourbon and two glasses, and pours them both a double. 

He swallows his drink down in one, then speaks, his voice husky with suppressed emotion. "Eighteen months ago, I was on my way back from one of the outlying farms where it'd been reported their cattle had been rustled, when I ran into Grant Ward and another of Garrett's thugs, Marcus Daniels." He pauses to pour himself another shot, and Daisy drinks some of her own, more to be companionable than because she wants the bourbon.

"I was engaged to be married eighteen months ago," he tells her, and when he looks at her, Daisy feels as if her heart might break. "Her name was Audrey Nathan, and she was lovely. I didn't know it, but Daniels had seen her around Oakland when he and Ward were down here buying supplies, and he'd taken a fancy to her. So when they came into town and heard that I was away, Daniels decided to take his chance – he somehow persuaded Audrey to go with them when they left town. But once they were on the way back to the Centipede Corp compound, he decided he couldn't wait until they got back to take what he wanted from her."

Daisy reaches out and puts her hand on his forearm, and he swallows some more bourbon before continuing, "Audrey tried to fight him off. When I arrived she was screaming and struggling with him on the ground, while Ward watched and laughed from his horse." Daisy tightens her hand on his arm, and after another moment he continues. "I shot Daniels just before he could rape Audrey, but Ward fired at me, though he missed, before I could shoot him, too."

He closes his eyes and Daisy wonders if he's picturing the scene. "Ward threw himself off his horse and knocked me off mine, and in the ensuing struggle he stabbed me, nearly through the heart. I don't know exactly what happened after that since I was too busy almost-dying, but from the position of Audrey's body, when we were found, it seems she was trying to run back to town, presumably to come and find help for me, and Ward shot her in the back."

He rubs a hand over his face, sighs heavily, then continues. "I was unbelievably lucky. Miss Simmons and Leo Fitz came riding out of town and found me in time for Miss Simmons to save my life." He falls silent and Daisy rubs her hand up and down his arm, futilely trying to comfort him. 

"Took me a long time to recover," he adds, his voice hoarse, "and I ain't been the same since. That attack knocked me for six and I ain't got the courage I had eighteen months ago. I made an effort to prove that Ward had killed Audrey, and left me for dead, but Garrett swore blind that Ward hadn't left the compound that day, and he blamed Daniels for both the death of Audrey, and my stabbing. Eventually I didn't have the strength to go on trying to fight for the truth."

To Daisy's dismay Coulson begins to cry, and she shifts on the couch to wrap her arms around him and pull his head down, letting him cry on her shoulder. 

DJ-PC-DJ-PC-DJ

Coulson can't believe he's crying on Daisy's shoulder; he hasn't cried once since the day of Audrey's funeral – which he'd had to miss because he wasn't recovered enough to attend. At some level, though, it makes sense, crying on a stranger's shoulder, because he hasn't dared to let himself cry with anyone else, not even Melinda May. He hopes he isn't ruining her shawl and dress with his tears, and it's that thought which makes him sit back upright again. Daisy gives him a handkerchief, and he uses it to dry his face, then he knocks back the last of his bourbon before screwing the cap back on the bottle.

"Do you know what the worst thing was about losing Audrey?" he asks, and Daisy shakes her head, her dark brown eyes full of sympathy. "After I lost her, I realised I hadn't loved her all that much – it was the idea of being married that I loved: I wanted a woman to warm my bed, to cook my meals, and mend my clothes. I just hope she didn't ever realise that."

He sighs heavily, then gets to his feet and carries the bottle of bourbon back to the cabinet, then he walks back to the couch and looks down at Daisy.

"You really think you can get into the Centipede Corp compound?" he asks doubtfully. She gives him a confident nod. "Are we gonna need more men? I ain't got a deputy, but there's three, four, men I'd trust to have my back in a fight."

"I think it'd be better to wait until we've got a plan of how to get into the compound," she tells him. "And for that, I only need one person – me."

He frowns at her, then sits beside her again. "What do you mean?"

"I'll ride out there and start keeping watch on the compound: work out how many exits they have, how many security guards, and what their patrol shifts run like. Discover where they house the people they've enslaved. Anything that might be of use in getting us inside and getting those people out safely."

"You sound like this is something you've done before," he says, not quite sure what to make of the fact.

She looks away from him for a moment before answering, "Once or twice."

He swallows down the impulse to ask for an elaboration – he is a Sheriff, after all. 

"It might take me a week or two to get all the information we need," she tells him. "But once we have it, we can move swiftly. Be a good idea to have a doctor with us when we go in, not knowing what state these folk'll be in. Think Jemma Simmons would be willing to assist, or capable of doing so without panicking?"

"I think she might," he tells her. 

She nods. "Once we are ready to move, we'll need to have some wagons close by – it's likely the folks we'll be rescuing will be in a bad way: starved, beaten, injured – so we'll want some way to get them out of there fast, and wagons'll be easier than a load of horses." She taps on the sheaf of papers in her hand. "There's more than thirty names on this list, so we'll need at least two wagons, three if we can find 'em."

"I'll see to that," he tells her, knowing exactly which folk he can ask.

She nods, then gets to her feet. "If you'll excuse me, Sheriff, it's been a long day, so I'll be getting back to May's to catch some shut-eye. I'll head out to the Centipede Corp compound tomorrow to start getting the information we need."

He's already on his feet by the time she finishes speaking, and he nods acquiescence, then sees her to his door. She shakes hands with him before she steps outside, and he watches her cross the road and head down the sidewalk to May's, then he closes and locks his door before moving into the kitchen to clear up.

As he washes the dishes he realises he feels lighter than he has done since he woke after Audrey's death, and he wonders just what it is about Daisy that's made him feel this way. She's an unusual sort of girl, that's certain – clearly competent at the kind of planning she was outlining earlier, and smart as a whip, too. He'd like to get to know her better; he'll admit, in the privacy of his own head, that she's a very attractive young woman, especially in the red dress she wore tonight, and with her hair down around her shoulders. He has to pause for a moment to adjust himself before he resumes washing the dishes; he hasn't bedded a woman since he lost Audrey – a self-imposed celibacy that felt like the right sort of penance for not loving his fiancée enough – he'd like to bed Daisy, though. He knows that won't happen – he's too old and care-worn for her, and definitely not brave enough for a woman like her.

When he goes to bed, though, and he touches himself, he can't help picturing her in his mind's eye, and imagining what she might look like out of the red silk and lace dress.

DJ-PC-DJ-PC-DJ

As Daisy hangs up her dress and shawl, and unbraids her hair in her room at May's, she finds herself concentrating less on her plans for tomorrow, and more on what it felt like to hold Sheriff Coulson in her arms. She'd be embarrassed if he, or anyone else, were to find out that she's attracted to him (she's always preferred older men, anyway – boys her own age tend to be a lot less secure around a competent woman like herself). As she slips between the sheets, she can't help thinking about how much she'd like him to join her here – it's a pleasant image to fall asleep on, she thinks.

The next day Daisy's awake at dawn, and she packs up the things she'll need while she's camping by the Centipede Corp compound: blankets and canvas for a shelter because there's wet weather moving in; her cooking pot and water skins; and some spare shirts and pants in case she gets wet while she's scouting the compound. 

She heads down to grab some coffee and fresh rolls as soon as she hears movement downstairs, and May looks up in surprise as Daisy reaches the bottom of the stairs. 

"Leaving so soon?" she asks quietly.

Daisy shakes her head. "I'm coming back. I've left some of my things in my room, and I'd be obliged if you'd keep the room for me. I can give you money for a week's hire in my absence."

May's eyebrows go up, then she shakes her head. "Won't be necessary," she tells her. "Trade's quiet this time of year. 'sides, the town owes you for settling them outlaws yesterday. I had money in that bank, too, you know."

Daisy feels a flush of heat in her cheeks, and ducks her head a little as she thanks May, then takes a seat at one of the oak tables. 

"Breakfast?" May asks, and Daisy nods eagerly, and the older woman gives her a smile before heading back into the kitchen.

She returns a short time later with a pot of coffee, hot bread, a couple of slabs of bacon, and a mess of beans, which Daisy eats with more speed than manners. No one else has come down for breakfast by the time she's finished eating, which suits her – the fewer people who see her leaving, the better – so she slips out the back to saddle her horse, startling the stable boy, who clearly hadn't expected anyone to be out here this early. She checks the saddle over minutely, attaches her saddle bags, then climbs up into the saddle, and rides out of town with far less notice than when she rode in the day before.

DJ-PC-DJ-PC-DJ

On the evening of her fourth day camping near the Centipede Corp compound a thunderstorm rolls in, and Daisy's huddled in a blanket inside her tent, which she'd set up under some trees to provide extra shelter, and wondering if Smoky, her horse, will forgive her for dragging him out here, when she hears a low whistle. She immediately pulls a knife from her boot, then picks up her revolver with her right hand, and waits tensely until an unexpected voice says tentatively, "Daisy?"

"Come in," she calls, and a moment later Sheriff Coulson crawls under the dripping canvas. 

"What are you doing here?" she demands when he doesn't immediately explain his sudden appearance.

"I came to see how you were getting on," he says, "and to show you this." He passes her a much folded piece of paper, and when she unfolds it, she finds it's a letter from the High Sheriff, which tells Coulson that he's going to be transferred from Oakland to San Francisco next month.

She frowns at him, noting that he's seated himself cross-legged at the other end of the tent, and surprised by the realisation that she's very glad of his company this evening. "Did you ask for this?" she asks, passing him back the letter.

He shakes his head as he tucks the paper back into his vest pocket. "I did not. I can't help wondering if Garrett's behind it, though. I know the Governor is in his pocket, and the Governor thinks that John Garrett can help him to become the next Senator. The Governor, of course, is Grant Ward's older brother, Christian."

She grunts an acknowledgement, thinking furiously. "If Garrett is behind this move, he must want you out of Oakland for a reason."

Coulson nods. "My thoughts exactly."

"What will you do?" she asks curiously.

"I don't know," he says pensively. "I'm 51 years old, and being a Sheriff was all I ever wanted to do. I'm too old a dog to learn any new tricks, but too young to retire." He scowls at the kerosene lamp she has hanging from the central pole of her tent. After a moment he sighs, then suddenly starts digging in the pockets of his duster. "I almost forgot," he says. "I brought you something."

Daisy lifts an eyebrow at him, and he mutters something inaudible. "Sorry, what did you say?" He seems to be blushing.

"I sort of noticed how much you enjoyed it the other night," he says.

He passes her a linen-wrapped package, and when she unfolds the linen, she finds a large apple pie inside. "Well," she says, surprised. "This is very good of you. It'll make a change from the beef jerky and stale bread I've been eating."

He gives a self-satisfied sort of smile, and she ducks her head to hide her own answering smile, concentrating, instead on wrapping up the pie again. 

Once the pie's safely wrapped, she tells him what she's found out, so far, about Garrett's operations at the compound. The storm continues to rage outside, the thunder loud, the lightning flashes searingly bright, and the rain so heavy she is half surprised her tent's not leaking – but the canvas holds up well.

"You can't go back to town in this," she tells him, knowing it's getting late. "You'd better sleep here."

He blushes in the lamplight, but doesn't offer an argument. He takes off his boots and his duster, leaving his boots beside hers by the entrance to the tent, then lies beside her, accepting the offer to share her blankets with a murmur of thanks. Admittedly it's not as comfortable as the bed in May's rooms, but it's better than being outside in the wet.

"Goodnight Daisy," he says quietly as she reaches out and turns down the lantern.

"G'night Sheriff."

"Phil," he whispers, and after a moment she repeats his name.

DJ-PC-DJ-PC-DJ

It's still dark when she wakes up the next morning, and she wonders why she's awake, until she registers how warm she's feeling, and realises why: in the night, Coulson's wrapped his body around hers so that they spoon together under the blankets. They're both dressed, still, in pants, shirts, and vests, which just makes their blanket cocoon even warmer. She's amused when she realises his arms are wrapped around her torso; it doesn't feel intrusive or intimidating, though – in fact, she feels surprisingly safe in his embrace. She shifts, her hip brushing against his groin as she rolls onto her back, and she notes he's a lot bigger than she'd initially assumed. He murmurs something indistinguishable into her hair, then loosens his arms and turns onto his back too.

"Time is it?" he mumbles, and she whispers back, "Early."

He grunts, and she can just make out what he's doing when he adjusts his erection inside his jeans. She wonders how awake he is, because the gesture seems automatic and unselfconscious, and it causes a flood of warmth and arousal to spread throughout her body. However, she pushes aside her desire, and crawls out from underneath the blankets to pull on her boots, before she slips out of the tent. The storm's passed on, thankfully, and she glances around as she makes her way towards the nearby stream to take care of her ablutions: everything is still and quiet, and if it wasn't for the task she's here to do, she'd enjoy the situation, and hope to get to know Phil Coulson rather better.

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Daisy slipping out of her tiny tent brings Coulson fully awake, and he feels himself flush as he recalls waking up with his body wrapped around the young woman; his cock's still hard and he's glad she's gone outside. He tugs his boots on, then slips out of the tent and around the back of the trees to where their horses are tethered. Checking on the horses, and giving them both some oats allows him to get himself back under control, and while he'll admit that he'd like nothing more than to bed Daisy, he feels now is not the time or place, even assuming she'd be willing to engage in sex with him.

He digs out the food he brought with him from his saddlebag, and when he returns to the tent, Daisy's got a tiny fire going outside and is boiling water for coffee. He hands her the linen-wrapped packages he's retrieved, and she gives him one of those raised-eyebrow looks she seems fond of, before setting both packages down and unwrapping them to reveal thick slabs of bacon and a loaf of bread.

"You're spoiling me, Sheriff," she tells him, and he chuckles.

"Reckon you deserve it," he tells her, and he picks up the loaf, tearing it into pieces, which he layers with the slabs of bacon as Daisy finishes making the coffee.

"I thought I'd stay with you today, help share in your watching, if that's okay?"

She looks thoughtful as she passes him a tin mug of coffee, then nods. "Yeah, I reckon that's okay. Don't mind admitting I'd be glad of the company."

"Good," he says, then begins to eat his bread and bacon.

They eat in silence, but it's a companionable one, then Daisy leads him on a circuit of the compound, showing him the exits, and identifying various buildings, including the bunkhouse, behind the barbed wire fence that surrounds the compound.

"Getting through that won't be easy," Coulson observes when he sees the fence. 

She gives him a cheeky grin. "We'll be going through the east gate, though."

"We will?" He gives her a surprised look, and her grin widens as she nods. "How?"

"I know how to pick locks," she tells him. "And the east gate's the least used and least watched one."

"I'm not going to ask how you know to pick locks," he says teasingly.

"Misspent youth," she tells him. "I was a bit messed up when I was a teen."

"May told me that you're an orphan."

She nods. "I spent my childhood and early teens being bounced between foster homes and St Agnes orphanage. I ran away from the orphanage at 16 and lived as best I could for five years."

He can't help wincing at this information, although he notes that she's very matter-of-fact about it – there's no hint of self-pity in her voice or expression as she speaks. "What happened when you were 21?" he asks, then adds quickly, "You don't have to tell me if you'd rather not." 

"I don't mind telling you." She settles on the ground behind a group of boulders, then opens her water canteen and drinks; Coulson sits beside her and follows suit: it's a much warmer day today, and it'd be easy to get dehydrated.

"I met a guy. He was quite a few years older than me." Coulson files that information away for later consideration. "His name was Miles and he helped me get back on the straight and narrow. He belongs to a group that calls itself The Rising Tide – it's worked for years for the emancipation of slaves of all kinds: not just those enslaved in the southern states, but also those like the people on that list I showed you, who are already free men and women but have been dragooned into working for corporations like Garrett's."

"I've heard of The Rising Tide," Coulson admits. "I had no idea they were here in the West."

"There are only a few of us this far west," Daisy tells him. "Most of the Tide's members are in the southern states. Miles is in Texas, but after he and I split up last year, I decided to come further west."

Coulson would love to know why she and Miles split up, but can't think of a tactful way to ask, so he keeps silent, but after a moment she tells him.

"He wanted to get married, and for me to start producing children as soon as we were wed – I guess I don't mind the idea of getting married so much, but having children of my own is an idea that terrifies me. I have no idea how to be a mother never having had one myself. I couldn't make him understand that, and we argued about it constantly for months, so I walked."

"I'm sorry," he says softly, thinking that it couldn't have been easy for her. "You and he were together a few years, I guess?"

She nods. "Four years. Never been with anyone else in any kind of relationship for that long." She swallows some more water. "It was the hardest thing I'd ever done, but it was the right thing to do. I've been working my way west over the last year, helping out the Tide's local chapters as I came." 

She looks over her shoulder at the compound behind them. "I'd been hearing rumours about John Garrett, and the Centipede Railroad and Mining Corporation, from people in the local chapters – it was one of them who helped me to compile that list of names I showed you." A beat, then she asks, "Did you know there's not one single white person among the enslaved back there?"

He's startled, then horrified when she tells him this. "None?"

She nods. "The only white people I've seen are Garrett's."

"We'll stop him," he tells her fiercely.

"Could mean the end of your career, Sheriff," she says carefully.

"If it means freeing those people, and sending them back to their families, I don't care," he tells her. He'd already given it some thought, anyway – he knows how powerful John Garrett is, and he doesn't doubt the High Sheriff will do whatever he's told, and if Governor Christian Ward, at Garrett's urging, tells the High Sheriff to fire Coulson, then Brock Rumlow won't hesitate to do so.

She nods. "Most of Garrett's men will be in town on Friday night," she observes. "I thought we'd stage the raid then."

"How many people d'you want to help us?"

"How many can you muster?"

"Leo Fitz will come – he's Jemma Simmons' sweetheart, so as she's coming he'll want to come too. He's no good with a gun, but he can drive one of the wagons. Melinda May." Daisy's eyebrows fly up, and he says, "She's a good shot. Maybe not as fast as you, but faster than me."

"Okay."

"Lance Hunter and his wife Bobbi. She's also a fast draw, though again not so fast as you." He gives her a smile. "Ain't never seen anyone, man or woman, who's as quick on the draw as you."

She blushes, and murmurs an acknowledgement.

"Lance'll drive the second wagon," Coulson continues, "and he's a good man to have around in a fight. Will seven of us be enough?"

Daisy thinks it over for a bit, then nods. "I reckon. Are you bringing just two wagons?"

He shakes his head. "Melinda's gonna bring one too." 

She gets to her feet and he follows her as they circle back around to her camp.

"When we get these folks out, where are we taking 'em?" he asks. "'cos taking 'em back to Oakland's a bad idea – it's the first place Garrett'll come looking, and I don't want him razing the town."

"I've got that covered," she tells him. "The local Rising Tide chapter will help. I'd like you to telegraph the leader, Nick Fury – he's picked out a campsite already, somewhere defensible. If you telegraph him to tell him we'll be springing these folks on Friday night, he'll get everything set up to receive them and us."

He nods, then fetches some water from the stream for her to make some coffee. He sets the billycan down within reach, then sits beside her while she makes the coffee. 

"Phil."

She pulls him from his thoughts and he gives her an apologetic smile as he accepts his coffee. "Penny for them," she says, smirking a bit.

"I was just thinking about how much I'd like to kiss you," he tells her, then clamps his mouth shut as he realises he shouldn’t have admitted that aloud. "God, Daisy, I'm so sorry. That was so stupid of me. What must you be thinking of me?" He starts to get up, but she wraps her hand around his forearm and grips tight.

"I'm thinking I must be dreaming," she says quietly. "For you to want to kiss me, 'cos I've been wanting that since we had supper together the other night."

He stares at her, feeling bewildered. "You have?"

"Oh yeah." She leans in, her eyes on his mouth, and he can't help leaning towards her, and then her mouth is on his, her lips soft and supple against his own.

"Daisy," he breathes, aware that his cock's instantly grown rock hard.

"Phil." She nips at his bottom lip, and he can't help gasping in surprise as a bolt of pleasure shoots straight to his cock. Her tongue slips into his mouth, and he groans quietly, then more loudly as he feels her fingers curl over his denim-clad cock.

She kisses him eagerly, her left hand holding the back of his neck, while she fumbles open his pants and eases him free; she curls her fingers around his thick shaft, then slides them upwards.

He gasps, and pulls back, his lips red and thoroughly kissed. "I can't ask you to do that," he says huskily.

"You didn't ask," she points out, "I'm offering." She tilts her head to one side, then says softly, "I won't do this if you don't want me to, but it seems to me that you want this very much."

She can hear it when he swallows hard. "I do," he agrees.

"Then let me," she says, and squeezes his dick firmly.

He moans, then says, "Please, Daisy."

She leans in and begins kissing him again as she works her hand up and down his thick prick; his flesh is hot and hard, his skin silky smooth beneath her fingers. Once she's worked him up to fever pitch, more or less, she pulls her mouth from his and drops it down over the head of his cock, then begins to suck, and he yelps, his right hand curling around the back of her neck, as he pumps his hips upwards until he spills his seed down her throat. She swallows every drop down, aware that her nipples are hard beneath her shirt, and her sex wet and throbbing with desire.

When she lifts her head from Coulson's lap, she sees his cheeks are wet with tears and he looks almost ashamed, she thinks.

"What's wrong, Phil?" she asks, lifting her hand to cup his cheek.

He shakes his head, then says, "You're the first woman I've been with since Audrey – " He doesn't finish the sentence, but he doesn’t need to – Daisy understands. "I'm pathetic, a – "

"Hey, no you're not," she says quietly, cutting him off without compunction. "You're a very sensitive man. I like that in you. And you've been very lonely, and sad, I think."

He nods, not looking at her, and she leans in to kiss him, soft, and slow, and sweet as she can.

"You're the first man I've been with since Miles and I split up," she tells him, and his eyes snap open.

"I – " He cuts himself off, then leans in and he kisses her this time. "I want to make love to you," he tells her when he releases her mouth. "But not here – in a proper bed." He slips his hand over her mound, cupping her sex through her jeans. "Will you let me return the favour?"

She nods, and he guides her backwards to lie down, then he gets her jeans and drawers off, before he settles between her legs. He kisses a path up her leg from the back of her knee to her inner thigh, then does the same on the other leg, before drawing the flat of his tongue up the length of her sex. 

She can't help moaning loudly as she feels him pull the lips of her sex open, then plunge his tongue into her. He uses his mouth and two fingers on her, and it doesn’t take him long to get her off, although he doesn't stop when he does make her come – he just goes right on licking and sucking, working her through the aftershocks, then he goes on again, fingering and sucking and licking until she comes a second time. He kisses her thighs one after the other, then straightens up and moves to lie beside her, and she shifts to curl against his body, resting her head on his left shoulder.

After a while he mutters, "I should be getting back to town."

Daisy sits up immediately, although she's reluctant to move, then gets to her feet and dusts herself down, before she pulls her drawers and pants back on. From the corner of her eye she can see Phil rearranging his own clothes, and she thinks about how much she wants to be with him properly. It embarrasses her to want a man that much, but she thinks he's a man worth wanting.

They walk over to their horses, and he pauses before climbing into the saddle, so she leans in and kisses him, trying to make the kiss promise what she doesn't want to put into words just yet. She knows that Friday night's raid is going to be dangerous, no one knows that better than her, so she doesn't want to say too much to him. But if they make it through safely, then she intends to find a bed and have him.

"See you Friday," she tells him quietly, and he nods, then climbs up into the saddle and wheels his horse around to head into town. He raises a hand in farewell and she waves back, then turns away and goes back to her tent – it's going to be a long three days, she thinks.

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Sheriff Coulson wakes in a strange bed in a strange room and with a stranger's face bending over him, and he panics, tries to sit up, and grunts in pain when he discovers he can't.

"Phil." A familiar voice makes his eyes snap open and he sees Melinda looking down at him, a mixture of anxiety and relief on her face. "Good, you're awake."

"What – ?" He can't get the words out, and he tries to swallow, but his mouth and throat are too dry.

"Here," Melinda says, and lifts a canteen to his mouth, supporting his shoulders with her other arm.

He swallows gratefully, then tries again. "What happened? Where are we?"

"You got knocked out," she tells him. "We're at Nick Fury's Rising Tide camp."

"Daisy?" he asks.

Melinda smirks, although he's no idea why. "Andrew's just gone to fetch her," she says, and he realises that the stranger's face bent over him hadn't been a stranger's at all – he simply hadn't recognised Andrew with a beard. He feels woolly-headed, which he guesses isn't surprising if he was knocked out.

Daisy comes in, just ahead of Andrew, and he feels his whole body relaxing at the sight of her, whole and well, so far as he can tell – she seems to be moving easily, and she looks very satisfied.

"Glad to see you're back with us, Phil," she says cheerfully, then bites her lip, as if the use of his first name is too revealing. 

"How is everyone?" he asks. His memories of the raid are a confused blur of smoke, noise (shouts and screams as well as gunfire), and movement.

"We got everyone out," she tells him. "Most everyone's okay, except for being starved and being abused with whips and the like, goddamn overseers."

"Daisy." Andrew's voice is soft and Phil sees him touch her shoulder gently, and watches as she visibly reins in her anger.

"Garrett's men are all dead, including Grant Ward." She says the last with savage satisfaction, and he wonders what that's about, but he's discovering he doesn't have the energy for more conversation. Andrew must see it too, because he motions Daisy and Melinda away.

"That's enough for now," he tells them all. "Go and get some more rest, Daisy. You can come back later."

She nods, and goes out, and Phil gives Andrew and Melinda a questioning look. 

"She's the one who killed Ward," Melinda tells him. "She shot him four times in the back after he knocked you down and out, then she left him to crawl in the dust. I think she figured he'd bleed out pretty fast, but as we drove the wagons back out, he was still crawling, so she got off her horse, walked back to him, and shot him in the head, telling him, 'This one's for Phil, and for Audrey' as she fired."

"You certainly made an impression there, Phil," Andrew says, his voice soft and his eyes smiling as he checks a bandage on Phil's left arm that he hadn't even noticed, but he now remembers a bullet grazing his arm.

"She made one on me, too," Phil admits.

Melinda snorts. "Which explains that gooey look you were giving her just now when she was in here."

Phil instinctively wants to deny the gooey look, but privately admits that it's entirely possible he was looking at Daisy that way. "When can I get up?" he asks instead.

"Not before tomorrow," Andrew says firmly. "You took a real ding to the head."

Phil sighs, but nods acceptance.

"Your girl's good," Melinda says warmly as Andrew goes out to attend to someone else, and Phil wants to protest that Daisy's not 'his girl' (he has a feeling she'd object strongly to the term), but he just smiles instead.

"Yeah."

"I've never seen someone so quick on the draw – it was almost inhuman. She was responsible for killing 5 of the 7 men that Garrett had left behind."

"She is good," he agrees. "Thinking of asking her to be my deputy."

Melinda snorts. "You're smitten," she tells him.

"Yes," he agrees easily.

She shakes her head, then smiles. "I'm glad, Phil. You deserve to be happy."

"I'm not sure I do," he says. "I never loved Audrey as well as she deserved."

"Phil."

He shakes his head in turn. "It's okay, Melinda, I don't plan on brooding on it, or punishing myself. If Daisy will have me, I intend to be happy with her."

"Good enough," she tells him. She pats his arm, then goes out.

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Daisy comes back a few hours later, and brings him food – he can smell it even before he opens his eyes and sees the bowl she's carrying, along with a plate of bread.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," he greets her, and she smirks.

"Glad you think so, Phil," she says. "Andrew agreed to me bringing you some food provided I don't, and I quote 'get him too riled up'."

"Hmmm." He can't help thinking he wouldn't mind her riling him up, but he guesses he'd better wait for that.

She passes him the bowl and the plate of bread, then perches on the side of his bed, and takes them back, setting the plate on her lap, and he gives her a questioning look. She smirks again, then spoons up some stew and holds the spoon out to him. He's startled by how much the gesture arouses him, and he hopes he's not blushing as a consequence. He swallows down the mouthful, and is surprised by how good it tastes – although he's not sure why he didn't expect it to taste good.

While she feeds him, she tells him about the people they rescued the night before, cataloguing who was injured, and how, and he listens intently, committing their names to memory.

By the time the stew's finished he's drooping with exhaustion, and she encourages him to lie down flat, and go to sleep. It doesn't need much persuasion on her part for him to do just that, and the last thing he remembers before sleep claims him is Daisy climbing up onto the bed and cuddling up close, his back against her chest.

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When Daisy wakes the next morning, she and Phil have changed places in the night. He's got his left arm wrapped around her torso so that his hand is cupping her right breast, while his right hand is caught between her thighs. And even through the denim of their jeans, she can feel his erection pressing against her ass – and it feels very good, so good, in fact, that she can't help pressing her ass backwards just a little. He moans into the back of her neck, and his left hand tightens its grasp on her breast – it feels huge, but not unpleasantly so – while his right hand presses more firmly against her sex, despite the thick denim that bars his access. She can feel heat and moisture gathering in her sex and she wishes she could get herself off.

Then Coulson murmurs her name, and she moans quietly.

"Phil, please. I – " 

His left hand drops to the waist of her jeans, then he gets her pants open, making her moan more loudly when he slides his right hand inside her clothing so he can slip his middle finger into her sex. Her hips buck up off the bed, and her sex grows wetter as he strokes her. She can feel her climax approaching rapidly, and she grinds her ass back against his cock as he works her closer and closer to the edge until she finally comes with a quiet cry of pleasure. He strokes her through the aftershocks of her orgasm, and when her breathing finally calms down, he draws his hand back out of her pants. She immediately grabs his wrist and brings his hand up to her mouth, sucking her juices from his fingers.

" _Daisy_ ," he groans, and she realises he's probably close to coming himself. She rolls onto her back, then onto her side so she's facing him. His eyes are wide in the pre-dawn light, and she leans in to kiss him hungrily. He kisses her back eagerly, and he's so distracted that she gets his pants open and slips her hand inside to caress his cock before he even realises what's happening.

She pushes him onto his back, then sits up so she can manoeuvre her pants and drawers down and off, which allows her to straddle him. He moans very loudly when she lowers her body down over his, her slick sex easily taking in his thick girth. She rides him hard and fast, and all he can do is hold on to her hips, and keep thrusting until eventually she shatters around him. She quietly cries out his name as she comes, and he only manages a few more thrusts before he comes too. 

"I don’t think Andrew needs to know about this," she observes quietly once they’ve straightened themselves out and are snuggled up together again in the bed. 

He chuckles softly. "No, we'll keep this to ourselves." He strokes his hand idly up and down her back. "I was wondering how you felt about turning Deputy," he says. 

"Oh." It's not something she's even remotely considered. 

"I take it from your voice that you're not interested?" 

"It's just that Nick has asked me to stay on. He wants me to take over running the local Rising Tide chapter so he can go off and start another one somewhere else. I told him that I wanted to think about it, but I had more or less made up my mind to accept the role." She gives him a shy look. "I thought it would give me the chance to remain here. With you." 

"Well I can't pretend that I am not disappointed that you are turning down my job offer," he says with a mock pout. "But it makes more sense that you become the Rising Tide leader here, than you becoming Deputy Sheriff." 

"I still want to be with you, though," she tells him. "If you want me." 

"Oh I want you," he says firmly, and squeezes her ass by way of additional emphasis. 

Daisy chuckles. "Good to know, Phil." He begins kissing her again and she thinks that she must be one of the luckiest people alive. This is not the outcome she'd expected the day she'd ridden into Oakland, but it's better than anything she could have dared to hope for.


End file.
